


Petunias

by Measured



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Hanahaki Disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 08:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20060956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: When the first petal passes his lips, all Laurent can think is that this is all quite illogical.





	Petunias

**Author's Note:**

> I read one Hanahaki disease now and I can't stop writing 'em.
> 
> I think it's Ashikai's fault that Laurent is just all "this makes no sense!" considering her long rant on the illogicality of Hanahaki in the IkeSoren discord when it came up. 
> 
> In lore, Tharja cursed Noire to have an inbuilt ability something like counter where any attack against her leaves the same wound upon the person attacking. This can be seen in her gold tile conversations with people. She also has the ability to use magic/hexes despite being an archer in canon. And gold tiles expand that despite the Tharja supports saying that Tharja didn't teach her hexes and curses, Noire began to learn them on her own.
> 
> There's a few mentioned pairs not big enough to tag, so:
> 
> Ricken/Miriel  
Libra/Cordelia  
Henry/Tharja  
Owain/Morgan (no specified gender, pick and choose)  
Brady and Owain have two moms and they still had the kids too. (Maribelle/Lissa)  
Brady/Cynthia   
Gerome/Lucina  
Kjelle/Severa   
Yarne/Nah
> 
> In the floral language, petunia means: Resentment; Anger; Your Presence Soothes me

It started with a faint cough that got worse and worse, until she was left gasping upon the battlefield and off. Today, it was not between rains of arrows and the ever encroaching Risen, yet her heartbeat was just as desperate as if she were barely clinging on during the fray.

Her mind screamed for air as she desperately tried to breathe. Noire clutched at her chest as she felt a tickle at her throat, as if leaves had brushed the roof of her mouth, like the words she'd never said. It turned to desperate coughing, and pain as bloody flower petals fell from her mouth. Purple and white, they fluttered down to the ground with each spasmodic cough. It wasn't enough to barely be able to sleep, to suffer bouts of panic. This had to happen, too. Her luck wasn't bad enough. She had to be withering away slowly, as vines grew inside her body and choked out her life.

It was getting worse every single day--no, every single hour, every single second. How could she even survive at this rate, when each breath was a struggle? Each time she thought _he'll never notice you, he'll never love you_ and it came like a taunt, over and over in her mind.

And each time, the leaves would only spout further, and more verdant inside her. She could feel the roots go deeper into her lungs. Each breath was a reminder of what she could never have. She let out a soft sigh as she felt it rise, and then another spasm of coughs cam over her.  
  
Noire wiped away a petal from her lips, but not fast enough. She hadn't seen the glint of gold behind her. Noire pulled back in a start as she felt the brush of dark filmy fabric against her skin.

"M-Mother?"

Tharja lifted up the petal. "Hanahaki again..." She pinched the petal between two fingers tight, like she was squishing a bug. It burnt in the force of her fury. "Those accursed weeds are back to steal another. I won't have it. Not my daughter."

Tharja whirled around, vengeance wreathed around her, like purple flames.

"Who did this to you? They will pay immediately for daring to not love you back."

Noire let out a cry, and held up her gloved hand, as if to block a magical blow, even though he wasn't even there. "D-Don't! He's done nothing wrong!"

She smiled darkly. "He made you cry, didn't he? I won't forgive him for that. Anyone who so much as causes my daughter discomfort can expect to feel it back tenfold in retribution."

Noire twisted the flower petals in her hands until they ripped to pieces. "I don't think he even knows how I feel. All those times... That was just him...being nice. That's all."

Every kind gesture, every time he worried over her, it was just Laurent caring about everyone. She was just one of many in the army he looked after. Not special, not really. Laurent was just kind underneath all that callous bluntness; he just dedicated himself to ensuring the army was safe. She'd had to take that the entirely wrong way and end up like this.

"Well, he'll know now," Tharja said.

"The--the curse?"

"Of course," Tharja said.

Her mother, (not this younger version, not hers, never quite hers, no matter how much she clung) had left a curse upon her that any blow would be reflected, just as terrible. Any Risen or brigand or enemy soldier which managed to survive her talisman's outburst would feel the cut of any axe of claw as deeply as they did with her.

"Please, no... I don't want him to ever be hurt," Noire said softly. "Especially not because of me. Please...find a way to reverse it."

"Heheh...he deserves it. He must be an utter fool if he hasn't fallen in love with you. He should've been in love with you already to begin with, after all, you are my daughter. Bring him to me, I'll brew a potion to get things started. " she said.

"No...."

Her brow furrowed. "No?" Tharja said.

Noire clutched her talisman. "THE ONLY THING WHICH SHALL BE STARTED IS THE VENGEANCE AND RETRIBUTION I WILL BEGIN!"

"Humph. We'll see about that," Tharja twisted a dark tress though her hair. She pulled it out entirely, without even a flinch and twisted the hair. She bent down and picked up another petal, and wrapped the hair about it. Noire's skin felt suddenly hot. She gasped for breath, and finally felt the sweet taste of air filling her lungs. For a moment, the ache subsided. She had only a momentary relief--Noire didn't dare take comfort for long in this. It wouldn't last. It never did.

"I bound the roots from growing for a few more hours. There is a spell which will remove it. Your love will go with it, forever forgotten," Tharja said.

"But, Mother, you were--are--so...in love with Robin. Didn't it...affect you, too?"

A glint filled her eyes. "The flowers tried to feast upon me, but I pulled them out by the roots and used them to make a stronger curse than I had ever imagined. I burned the petals and seeds and danced upon their ashes. And I kept my love for Robin through it all."

"And father?"

She smiled, dark and nostalgic. "He understands. We have an agreement. He's rather fond of Robin, too..." She began to chuckle darkly at that.

Noire rested her hand over her chest. She could feel the roots even through her skin, tightening around each heartbeat. Her mother might have stopped them temporarily, but they were still so deep. What had started as a bit of light in her chest, a warmth in this cold world was choking her.

"I don't want to forget him, or lose this feeling," Noire said softly.

A shadow crossed Tharja's face. "If it gets too far, I will be casting this, no excuses. I will not lose my daughter for something as petty as wasting away from unrequited love."

Noire cast her gaze down. "S-sorry. I never meant to cause any trouble..."

"I'm no good at drying tears. I'd rather dry the organs of whoever made you cry into a fine dust and burn them over a fire. Much more effective," Tharja said.

Noire let out a cry. "T-That's not necessary! Really."

Tharja's expression grew cold. "If it gets any worse, I'm getting my kit out, and dragging those roots out of your lungs myself."

She left suddenly, without a goodbye. That left Noire with her ever dark thoughts. Though there was a bit of brightness within it all.

She couldn't say the moment she fell in love with him. Was it when she sat in the back of the war room, and watched him with his gloved hands at the map, leading them towards tactics that would save them that day? The many times he stopped to check in on her, to take a bucket of water or give her a smile that she so wanted to believe was just hers alone? How he'd pulled out his flask when she'd nearly fallen to heat stroke (to think, a Plegian unable to take the heat) and the droplets of water dripped down her neck as she chanced a look up at him. His expression had been gentle, more than she deserved.

(And a part of her wanted to believe that this was hers alone, because she'd seen him lose his temper so many times to their other comrades, but he hadn't ever said a harsh word to her. But she knew it couldn't be, never to be.)

Or that moment when she had been sure this would be it, yet he threw himself in front of her and guarded her from a horrific blow?

Or maybe it was all of them together. It was everything about him. His calm and steady voice, his quiet strength, how he supported them all, staying up late into the night formulating tactics and ways to improve their chances of survival.

The first cough came up the minute she had that thought. _There's no way he could ever feel the same. Not about someone like me._

When had the first seeds been planted? A thousand small smiles, his calm voice during battle. When he removed his hat, his hair would be slightly tousled, the way she could always rely on him, even when everything--everyone--else was falling apart.

This little bit of secret joy in his presence had sewn into pain. How like her to ruin this one good thing about her life with a bit of selfishness.

*

Before the end of the day, the spell had worn off. As twilight came, the candle burned down and Noire clutched the blankets closer to her for some desperate comfort as her body racked itself with desperate coughs. Blood and petals passed her lips each time. The flowers were growing again, she thought. Wasn't that her luck?

At least she hadn't clung to hope. Pain was her constant companion and always had been. This was no different. She couldn't say the words, even as they stuck in her throat like a lump, choking her. Even if she knew they might save her.

*

Illness came with war, truly, but it was an inconvenient time to fall ill. He'd had a persistent cough as of late. He'd begun to take a thick syrup of herbs crafted by Stahl, yet it had remained especially stubborn. But that day, after battle, the coughing became intense. He covered his mouth, only to feel something brush against them. Flower petals flickered for a moment on his gloves before disappearing.

"What kind of tomfoolery...?"

Laurent knew this required some research, so as he had many a time when he had a question, he went to his mother. A book could tell many things, but this also gave him an excuse to for this moment, have some form of closeness to a woman who in the very least, resembled his mother.

*

Laurent coughed again as he closed the door behind him. Miriel was within the convoy, with several books set upon the ground upon her. She had begun to order it, which was a tireless and endless endeavor, given how utterly careless so many of their army were. As Laurent approached,, Miriel glanced up from her book. Despite a day spent in battle, there wasn't even a single speck of dust upon her olive-brown robes.

"You're coughing. You have an ailment?"

Laurent described his condition. Miriel's face remained blank throughout his explanation.

Miriel frowned. "No research is necessary. I have witnessed that firsthand. It is referred to as the Hanahaki disease. It seems to be first discovered within Chon'sin, thus the name, though it is not sure exactly where it truly came from, or the origin of it. There are many rumors, but few hard facts. Largely given due to the nature of the disease. It either dies off immediately, or slowly makes the host waste away."

Laurent's brow furrowed. "So, a parasitic spore infects the host via tainted air? Strange, I have not come upon this when I studied diseases. What is the best means of treatment?"

Miriel closed her book. "What feeds the flowers is unrequited love. Save some of the petals. Perhaps I can study them further."

Laurent's brow furrowed. "Unrequited love causing flowers to grow in the lungs? How utterly illogical and bizarre a condition."

"Indeed. It has been theorized it is the manifestation of some kind of curse or dark magic," Miriel said.

Laurent pushed up his glasses."A curse? Hmmm. Perhaps that would make more sense. In my own case, the petals are phantasmagorical. They only last in my hand a moment before they disappear."

"Fascinating. I have never heard of symptoms of this kind within this disease. I should, however, note that the disease is quite deadly. It is no mere myth of folktale when I say it has few paths, acceptance or death. It nearly killed Cordelia. It was only the spells of Tharja which saved her. To cure Hanahaki disease, you must confess your feelings towards the object of your affection and have it returned."

Laurent inclined his head in thought. "And if it is not returned?"

"Death, though some have survived by magical intervention or being wooed by another. Both have happened, in the case of Cordelia. She was nursed back to health, and her feelings rose for that person instead."

Laurent's brow furrowed. "Hmmm, all this for an affection? It seems rather _excessive._ I cannot say I am overcome with feelings for anyone to feel as if I would die if I did not have them. I wish to protect my fellow comrades from harm, of course. That is only natural. However, what you described seems the makings of a rather florid romance novel."

Miriel lifted her hand and pushed up her glasses in one fluid motion. "How curious. Do you feel fondness when meeting any of your fellow soldiers? Flushed face, rushing heart, a deep anger at the thought of them dating another? I had all symptoms upon meeting your father. I did not recognize them. Thankfully, I was far too logical to fall to some flower disease, and our feelings were quickly dealt with before anything drastic came about."

Laurent rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. "Some I am more fond than others, truth be told. However, we are in a war, and a most perilous one at that. My feelings are that if many of them feel they have time to waste upon flirtations then that is their choice. I must set myself to a higher standard."

"An admirable stance, however, you are still showing signs of the Hanahaki disease, so there must be someone who has caught your eye. Gerome and Lucina have gotten engaged to be married recently. Could that be the cause of your distress, one of them? That you lost your chance there?"

Laurent shook his head.

"They are dear friends and I am most happy for them. Both of them are smiling more, and are far less grim. Gerome has even and shown something like hope and begun to interact more with those of this world. And Lucina has been far less reckless, with him by her side. In this point, their bonds of affection seem to have thawed something within him, and balanced something within her, thus making it no idle flirtation or waste of time."

"Hmm. Then, you feel no strong emotion for anyone at all?"

Laurent's thoughts went back to each restless night at the thought that she could be hurt, or even worse, die from exertion. He remembered how he had to check upon her, as if some magnetic force compelled him. How he would seek her on the battlefield to ensure that she had made no reckless plunge into the fray. When her other side came out, she would grow berserk, yelling and screaming. And it was truly a wondrous, beautiful sight. He smiled at the thought of her in turn, wild and demure, each side as appealing and lovely.

Yet, that too was normal behavior about a comrade, yes? He would not wish any of them to die, and Noire was closest to death of any of them. They were all technically 'friends' or at the very least 'comrades' though he must admit that some he did not think of as fondly, such as Inigo with his constant philandering in attempt to live up to his father's legendary reputation. He found very little to talk about with him, when the only topic he had any interest were his many failed conquests.

Which was a shame, as Laurent could have had quite rollicking talks about the mechanics of dancing, and his hypothesis that dancers wielded a certain kind of magic to be able to infuse them with such energy upon the battlefield to do twice the work. However, every time he so much as mentioned dancing, Inigo would blush and grow evasive. As if he were hiding his secret rendezvous, dancing in the night with such obvious stuttered replies.

Caring about someone, thinking about them often and feeling such a fondness, protecting them at every step, those were descriptions of friendship. And the fact that he found her beautiful, lithe, even captivating with the way she held her bow with a certain grace? Well, he had eyes. Many others among their comrades were considered attractive as well and yet he thought of them only as friends as well.

And if the thought of her made him smile, and stirred up happiness in him, and if simply the sight of her upon the battlefield and in camp brought him a rush of gladness,that too was a symptom of 'friendship' and 'camaraderie.' Friends became deeply happy at the sight of each other, yes?

Laurent cleared his throat. "I have a strong feeling to protect those of this army. However, if I felt such a feeling of hopelessness and desperation. I would express it. Simply bottling up a feeling would be a waste of time. Either I get accepted or rejected, either way I would move on with my life. A lost love is not worth dying over. If they do not love me, then I pray their love shall return their feelings and they live happily. Moreso, the more I stewed and pined, the more chance someone else would woo the object of my affection, thus ensuring the fears of become a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Strange, it seems you are logical enough to be immune to such a potential ailment, and yet you are experiencing symptoms of a kind. You said that the flowers you coughed up are phantasmagorical?"

"Yes. They disappear after a few moments, into purple flames."

"Fascinating. I must study further. For, traditionally, Hanahaki disease has true flowers, not illusions of some. A parasitic flower grows inside the victim's very lungs and feeds upon the words they will not say."

"Still, I must say this is quite curious an ailment. A parasitic flower is understandable, but one that lives and feeds upon unrequited love? Even with the thought of a curse, it seems...far-fetched. As if it belongs within a fairy tale or folk tale with a clear moral of speaking one's mind bluntly to ensure feelings and frustrations do not build within oneself."

"Indeed. However I can confirm it is all too true. I have seen firsthand the ravages of Hanahaki disease upon Cordelia. In the end, the world is full of wondrous, horrible and yes--illogical--things. I suggest you visit Libra immediately, and ruminate upon who could be causing such grievous ailments before it advances to a greater stage."

"Right. Thank you for your help, mother. After this, I shall visit the libraries and do a thorough study."

"Allow me. It will be more efficient for both of us to set upon this task from different angles. Besides, you take well to inspecting the others within your group. You seem to have a knack for interacting with the fellow soldiers that I do not possess. You must have inherited it from your father."

His mother was never grand in her shows of affection. It was always small, studious gestures that showed through.

Miriel cleared her throat. "Do not...push yourself too hard. I would not wish to see you harmed. The mere thought causes a certain--pallor and discontent to fall upon me. I believe this emotion would be described as 'worry' or perhaps 'concern.'"

Small gestures, and he couldn't even keep them forever. Still, he treasured what little of his mother he could have left.

He smiled. "Thank you, mother. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe some rest is in order. It's too late to start this inquiry. Should I try now, surely fatigue would make them cranky and unreasonable--especially Severa. Tomorrow would be much more fortuitous a time to test out these theories."

He left the convoy as quietly as he could. Mother always disliked the disturbance of loud noises, after all.

*

Mother had bound the petals again and again, but they kept growing. She felt constant nausea from the brush of flowers up her throat, at the back of her mouth. The petals kept spilling out like all the words she couldn't, wouldn't say.

And she tried, really. Tried to not think of him and not make them grow. But his absence cut into her like a knife. He usually was there on the battlefield by her side. He'd kept her safe constantly, deflecting blows and helping her take down higher level enemies with his magic, and he'd never shied away when she screamed. She'd even yelled at him before. She felt a little shame at that. In the end, she knew that she' driven him away, and now the only flowers she'd ever receive were the ones growing within her lungs and slowly strangling her heart.

She wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn't come. They were choked out by growing flowers that fell from her lips with each cough. They wilted away soon after they hit the air.

What a waste of something beautiful. In the end, she wasn't sure she'd ever look at flowers the same. Really, the one thing she thought she'd been safe from. In the end, nothing and nowhere was safe.

Maybe death would be a relief. She wouldn't have nightmares anymore, she could be reunited with her real parents. Because she knew she was just a burden upon these parents, who would one day have a Noire of their era. One who would likely be far less traumatized than she was. Or at least, she could hope.

She was the weakest of the group, so maybe, if she died, then someone else would live. Death would be too busy with her, it wouldn't come twice.

They'd all live happy lives without her. Just the thought of them all marrying and going on to have blissful futures--of _Laurent_ marrying someone else made her set to coughing again. She shuddered. Each breath was turning to a particular form of agony. Before she'd at least had some semblance of comfort between the disease, every second hurt.

But in the end, that was just her life. It was stupid to ever think that she could've had happiness in this era, that someone could love her. It might be a new time, but she was the same old broken person.

*

In the morning, there was a sudden Risen outbreak to be cleaned up. Laurent, and a small force of others were tasked with eradicating the unclean creatures. His cough had worsened during the night, yet he still took the orders--it was a fairly weak group, regardless.

Throughout it all, Miriel kept by his side on the battlefield. Usually, he kept close up with others, not merely as a means of protection, given that he was a sage, but that his staff could cure most wounds, thus making it a beneficial partnership.

Though, it was somewhat strange to be quite so far from Noire. For some time now, he had spent all his time on the battlefield paired with Noire. It was not a mere study of her compelling and alluring other side, but also a reassurance of his mind. None of the others seemed as determined to keep her safe, which was so utterly boggling to him. Every other thought of her was her safety. The mere fact that they could manage to eat and rest without checking in on her left him perplexed, and questioning the priorities of his teammates. After all, it was _Noire_. The mere thought of her harmed with even so much as a paper cut filled him with such intense feelings of dread, that he would hardly be able to sleep that night.

He'd noticed a certain weakness in her, a persistent cough. And that had only made him stay nearer to her, and heal her with his staff at every moment he could. Like his own cough, medicine seemed little help. Perhaps a respiratory infection?

He tried to remind himself that logically, one battle apart, to allow his mother the study of his ailment would not cause her death. Though logic itself dictated that no battle should be treated lightly, even low level brigands or Risen. A single misstep could lead to a grisly end.

But they had others they would protect. Brady had begun to shadow Cynthia, despite her reckless attacks, she had never taken truly grievous harm, not when he had his staff at ready. Owain and Morgan had begun to fight side by side, their games turned to tactics for the battle. Yarne would hide behind Nah's massive wings upon the battlefield, which was far more safe than being anywhere near her rampage point. Gerome was ever by Lucina's side, her beloved shadow. Kjelle and Severa seemed determined to fight together when they were not fighting each other, bickering and sparring as always. Yet each was most alarmed when the other was grievously injured.

And had he not intervened, Noire would've been alone. At times Severa kept an eye upon her, given their friendship, but not enough if she'd fallen so ill like this. The thought of her condition worsening left him breathless. Coughs racked his body. Laurent let out a shudder and caught a spray of ghostly petals. They glowed purple and burst into flames and ash, as the Risen did when they were defeated.

"This glows with dark magic," Miriel said.

"Then, I was cursed? I have had no ill meeting with Tharja or Henry. Though I suppose perhaps it could be from enemy forces. Even more, I could hardly understand why this curse in particular would be the choice. There are far more potent methods if one were to attempt to disarm me."

"Perhaps we are looking at this from the wrong direction. It is obvious that you are too forthright and logical to fall into Hanahaki disease itself, yet you are experiencing similar symptoms."

Miriel looked towards the sickbay. "I have researched thoroughly and found no cases of these 'ghost flowers.' However...There is one more question I had not considered. Of course you would be said to say you have a fondness for your fellow comrades. But what of ill feelings? Do you feel restless, sad, or upset because of anyone? Not because their conduct disappoints you, but at the thought of being parted from them? Should others of your generation take a lover, you would feel no intense feeling of jealousy?"

As he thought through the names, he felt nothing. He thought of them wedded, their marital bliss sealed with a kiss and with each he felt only a sense of knowing--and somewhat gladness that despite it all their foolishness, some kind of beneficial partnership had sprung up at all. At least their flirtations and drama weren't a complete waste of time.

That was, until he came to Noire. He couldn't bear to imagine beyond her in a white, dainty bridal gown. Instead, he had an imagine of Inigo leaning in with a smirk, and a flirtatious wink. A sudden rage filled him, his hand clenched, reflexively as if to what--punch someone? To punch even his comrade? The rage that rose up was so unexpected that it felt like a blow. And the coughing started, a horrific sensation of pain across his chest. Purple petals fell down, burning into ash.

Miriel smiled knowingly. "I, too, did not realize my own feelings until I was proposed to. It seems you may have inherited that from me as well."

Laurent shook his head, and let out a sigh. "Still, I can hardly believe I have fallen to this preposterous disease. I had girded myself against such trivial digressions. Even if I care for someone so deeply, I would speak the words as opposed to pining away uselessly for no reason."

"Indeed. It seems you are quite a special case. I have a hypothesis. If I were to call into the castle room, my voice would echo. What if it is a manifestation of someone else's feelings?" Miriel said.

"Hmm... You're saying that someone else loves me? But, according to research, the only one infected with the Hanahaki disease is the one with the unrequited feelings. I have seen no such mention of it affecting both, unless both believed the other did not love them."

"You see, during my studies, I found out that there is a certain curse that exists that causes a reflection of all attacks upon the cursed. If a death blow comes, then that too would be reflected."

Laurent rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Does this mean I am dying because I have not surmised someone else's feelings for me?"

Miriel adjusted her glasses. "That I cannot say. Only more research can tell. I hope not, though you are intelligent enough not lose yourself in your own sorrow, and let the disease consume you."

"Well, there are not many within our army which are not yet wed. After today, I will do a cursory search to find out the deeper feelings of my comrades," Laurent said.

"First, visit a healer. I would try my hand with the staff as well, but a member of the clergy may know more," Miriel said.

"Yes, I shall," Laurent said.

"I will continue my studies. We will not let this disease claim another victim. Tharja and Libra were able to save Cordelia from the brink, and she was a truly dire case. So caught up in unrequited love that she barely ate as she pined away to nothing. You, however, take this much more logically. So, we shall efficiently and quickly destroy these accursed flowers."

"Indeed, I would be glad to be rid of them," Laurent said. "And...for the other person's sake as well. Theoretical, of course, given we have not confirmed this hypothesis."

"Naturally," Miriel said.

Because it came to mind, Noire had a cough. A very persistent cough. And though she was given to falling to illnesses, despite her protests that she was fine, there was a chance, however small, that it was her.

As he left the room, another thought hit him with the force of a brick wall. What if he was wrong about one, but the other? What if Noire loved someone, yet it was not him and the symptoms were mere chance?

What if she loved another?

It felt as if something tightened about his chest like a vice. In that moment, it was difficult to even breathe. He covered his mouth with his hand.

"Foolish thoughts," Laurent murmured. He pushed them aside and made his way to find Libra.

*

He found Libra within the sickbay tents, with a staff laid upon his lap. Libra's hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and unknown stains covered his monk's habit. Even though he'd been working with the sick for hours, and enough to be covered in unmentionable splotches that Laurent could only hope were spilled vulnerary and medicine, he still looked serene and composed.

Libra looked up from a book of prayers, and gave Laurent a soft smile.

"Does something ail you, child?"

Laurent bristled a bit at that. At twenty-one, he was no child any longer. Whatever childhood he'd had was surely destroyed by the fell dragon. But Libra called everyone that, something about them all being fellow children of the gods.

When Laurent detailed his issues, Libra gave him a pained expression.

"Another so soon?" He let out a sigh. "We had to bring drag Cordelia from the edge of death, Tharja and I. We hadn't seen anymore within the army, and we thought it had been surely beat. However our children are surely repeated our same mistakes. What a sad legacy..."

"That's right, you married Cordelia, didn't you?"

Libra nodded. "I prayed for her safety. She simply wouldn't let go. In the end, Tharja did the spell without her permission. It took many months of recovery. I was by her side all that time. In the end, it was said my care brought her back from the edge--and she was grateful. You see, the spell is not without its issues."

"It causes forgetting of the love, no?"

"Not merely that. All memories related to that person will be gone. If the person they loved was particularly close, they could become almost like an amnesiac. And that relationship is never the same, I am afraid. Friendships could be pulled out by the roots with such a drastic act," Libra said somberly.

"Truly regrettable," Laurent said.

"Ascertaining which stage it is at can be difficult. Does your chest ache? Do you feel the growth of leaves and roots spreading within you? Are you becoming short of breath upon the battlefield?"

"No. Each breath comes easily until suddenly I am beset with coughing. The petals that come disappear within moments."

"They disappear?"

"Yes, there are no true petals. They are spectral, and disappear into dark flames and ash."

"Ghostly purple petals? Perhaps you should speak to a dark magic user. This sounds like an affliction of a curse or hex."

Laurent let out a sigh. "Perhaps, though a text might be more informative. Speaking to the dark magic users within this army would likely leave me cursed, confused, or both at once."

Libra smiled. "True."

"Allow me to heal you."

The heal staff filled him with warmth. For that moment, he felt no pain in his lungs.

"There. If you feel poorly, please come to a healer immediately. We do not want to see such a drastic case as before, or a single life lost due to love. ...And Laurent...please speak your feelings frankly," Libra said gravely.

Laurent gave Libra a faint smile. "I am afraid that I am not the one who has that problem. If my mother's hypothesis is correct, then I merely need to deduce whose fallen in love with me and in unable to speak their feelings, and why dark magic is involved."

"May the gods bless your journey, child," Libra said.

*

Father gave her a big smile as he came near. "Oh, it's Noiiire!"

He always had a smile for her, even in the darkest of times. Where mother was never good at expressing her kindnesses, he easily reached out and wrapped her in an embrace. In fact, her father of this era was little different than what hers had been. Time had scarcely touched him, or perhaps her mother had been feeding him potions to extend his life all that while.

In the end, her potions couldn't save him from the Risen.

"Where you headed, kiddo?"

Noire cast her gaze down. "The sick bay. Again. No surprise..."

"Feeling bad again?" He ruffled her pale hair, the same shade as his. "Keep smiling, kiddo! It'll get better. Or maybe it'll get awful and bloody, but that's fun too!"

Noire tried, but she couldn't manage a smile. It came out like a grimace.

"Aww, don't be sad, Noire. Here, I'll make you a puppy." He conjured up a ghostly vision of a dog, except it kind of looked more like a dragon with those leathery wings, that barked before it disappeared back to the ether.

"Thank you, father," Noire said softly. He always tried so hard, despite it all, to make her smile. It was just that his efforts were never enough to help with the crushing reality of the Risen, the nightmares, her weak body, and fragile mind.

"And remember, if you die, your mother and I will drag you back from the lands of death to come back to us. Truuust me, you'll be hopping out of that coffin before the day is even done," Henry said cheerfully. "She'd probably scare away all the death gods, too!" Henry burst out laughing.

Though Noire couldn't really say it was a comfort. This time, at least, she managed a smile.

*

The heal staff made the pain lessen a little. Still, the flowers had grown so far--and in such a small amount of time. Even with her mother's efforts, they kept growing. Her body ached from shallow breaths. The nausea was ever present. She could barely take a step without feeling unsteady.

"This generation is filled with this grievous illness as well," Libra said gravely. "Please be careful. If it gets worse, please rest, and call for a healer. I just took care of another. His symptoms are not quite as dire as others."

"Someone else?" Noire said.

"Yes, Laurent. Though his symptoms were most curious."

She could feel the roots wrap around her heart, tightening and tightening, deep into her lungs. She shuddered as coughs came. Blood dripped from her mouth.

"Noire!"

Even as the white light of a heal staff engulfed her, the pain still remained. Laurent was ill too? Laurent loved someone so much he was wasting away? Or was it her curse all along, dragging him towards death with her.

If she took the spell, would he forget her entirely as well? Until they were just two strangers from the same time. Every kind word and kind smile of his erased completely.

"I think it would be best if you rested in the sick bay. I will call for Tharja in the meantime."

She didn't want to forget him, even if it meant she'd hurt. Every soft smile, every time he'd spoke calmly about tactics, his steadying presence--she didn't want to lose a this one serene place within all her dark thoughts.

*

Before Laurent went upon his rounds, his father caught up to him, with a cry of his name. Laurent turned, and as often, had to accustom himself to look down quite a bit more.

"Miriel asked me to give this to you," his father said.

Ricken's hat was so large that it often slipped down to his face. He pushed it, determinedly back up.

Laurent looked down at the vulnerary, deep brown, and cool against his skin.

"Many thanks." He lifted it up and quaffed a dose. It was faintly bitter, but went down smoothly. He could not discern a change, though the concern was appreciated.

Ricken let out a faint sigh. "She's so much farther ahead of me in this stuff, but I'm working hard too! I'm bound to catch up eventually...right?"

Laurent's fingers tightened about the concoction. His memories of his father were so different from the man of the past. The man who had mastered magic and forged a litany of inventions, and founded the magic school with his mother. He had carefully taught Laurent in the arts, always with a kind word whenever Laurent faltered.

Except now, his father was a fraction of his size.

"I've seen the future to come. You and mother become some of the most prestigious and powerful mages of our era, and make many important discoveries. Until the Risen came, at least. Also, you hit a huge growth spurt about two years hence, if I remember correctly, " Laurent said.

Relief washed over Ricken's face. "Really?"

"Thank fully. It's quite disconcerting to have to bend down to speak to my own father..."

Ricken puffed out his cheeks. "Aww, come on. I'm trying! I'm of age and everything and drink a ton of milk every day. I don't know why it's taking so long."

"I cannot answer that question, as puberty did not take such a prolonged trip as it did for you. I suffered no issues in regards to that, thankfully. Perhaps I take after my mother in that regard. However, you will not have to wait much longer."

"You need some help?" Ricken gave him a smile. "It's really worrying me that my son from the future is sick. I healed a puppy back to health once, so it'll be about the same, right?"

"Actually, you're helping by assisting mother with her research. This next part I must go alone."

"Aww, all right," Ricken said. "Um, do be careful and stuff." He waved, and ran off back towards Laurent's mother. Laurent set off on his rounds.

*

Laurent studied each fellow comrade. Even some of the earlier era, though most had already married. Those were all swiftly ruled out as suspects. Gerome and Lucina were obviously exempt, though now it came to mind that Gerome had a respiratory illness recently. Perhaps he had been struck with the disease first. Thankfully, Lucina had returned his feelings, killing off the disease quite swiftly. With such stoics, prone to putting the entire world before their own wants and wishes, the Hanahaki disease could've gone quite far had Gerome not suddenly spoken up with his feelings.

He could already see the beginnings of bonds forming, none which involved him. Severa and Kjelle sparred daily, verbally and physically, and every fight came closer to blatant flirtation. Attraction, and rivalry not flowers grew between them.

Owain and Morgan had been playing at being soulmates or rivals, he couldn't quite tell which. Yarne had at first hidden behind Nah, yet now, she was the one being protected by him. The future of the taguel would certainly be an interesting one if his lineage was to be part manakete as well.

And Noire...was absent. Laurent felt a rising dread as took Brady aside. Brady was sporting a cough of his own. He'd been most reckless on the battlefield as of late. Going into the fray to throw rocks, and anything to keep Cynthia safe from the shadows. Though he showed symptoms, Laurent certainly did not believe they were intended for him.

His blond hair even looked more unkempt than usual.

"You are suffering from the Hanahaki disease, yes?"

Brady flinched. "Butt out and mind your own damn business, would you!"

Laurent did not take his harsh words to heart. Brady simply was sharp-tongued, with no ill-will behind it, or as the saying went 'all bark, and no bite.'

"That can be most dangerous. I would advise you tell the recipient of your affection that you care as soon as possible, before it advances to a more desperate stage."

Brady rubbed at his flushed cheeks. "Che...Maybe..."

Cynthia swooped above with a battle cry, and dove into the training dummy. Though her blow rung true, she manged to fall right off her pegasus with a huge clatter and crash.

Brady clutched tight to his staff.

"I gotta heal her right away," Brady said. His cheeks flushed even brighter. He broke off in a cough. White flower petals fell to the ground.

"W-What are you lookin' at? It ain't nothin'. J-just keep on movin'."

Well, that solved one mystery. Laurent hoped his persistence would make Brady see logic and confess his feelings already. Cynthia was a romantic girl, the thought that someone was wasting away with love for her would surely cause her to gladly reciprocate Brady's feelings, if she hadn't had them already. Though Laurent suspected the latter, given how she always heaped praises of him being an incredible hero and perfect sidekick as he healed her be it on the battlefield or training field.

"Before you go, I must ask, where is Noire? I have not seen her today during my rounds today."

Brady gave him a surprisingly shrewd glance. "Sickbay again. Surprised you didn't know, you're always watchin' over her."

"A lapse of mine, I am afraid. I've set aside my duties as I have recently contracted an ailment and have been working with mother to attempt to figure out its cause."

"Whatddya got? Some kind of ague?"

"No, it is--" Laurent cleared his throat. "Attend to Cynthia's wounds first. She is very important to you. You should tell her as much. You will feel much better when you express yourself clearly."

Brady blushed. "T-That's!" He broke off coughing. Daisies fell out from his lips. The same that Cynthia did her flower fortunes with, just as her mother had taught her. "Right."

Laurent ducked into the sick bay tent. The sickly scent of rotting flowers greeted him. Flower petals covered the blanket. They crumpled under his boots. Had Sumia done a thousand flower fortunes in here?

"L-Laurent!"

"Noire? You've fallen ill?"

She looked away. "Um, sort of."

Noire pulled the covers up over her mouth.

"I didn't want you to see me like this," Noire said.

Something tightened in his chest. He'd been lax, distracted by this mysterious ailment and during that time, Noire's condition had worsened. The mere thought that he could lose her felt as severe as a blow, a knife slipped between his ribs. He'd lost sleep before, pouring over texts to try and find something to help her rest, to help her smile again. He stared, eyes wide and felt as if his ribs were crushed slowly, compressed. He broke off coughing, until he was bent over.

"Laurent!"

They were no longer ghosts. Petals of a dark rose lay in his hand, tinged with blood. He closed his gloved hand. The disease could spread this easily, and this quickly?

"Impossible..."

"Does this mean we'll just waste away on the sick bed together?" Noire closed her eyes. "This is the closest I'll ever get to..."

The coughing became worse. Laurent sat by her bedside, and took her hand in his. His breath felt strangled. He felt it now, leaves in his chest. How stupid to think that he felt nothing but faint friendship, that he could be so unaffected. The thought of a life without her tore inside him. He felt thorns against his lungs.

"Laurent... I never wanted to see you being hurt or unhappy. I'm so sorry that I can't do anything to help...  
I'm sorry...I'm being selfish again."

He fought for breath. "Noire, you must speak your feelings. Be it a whisper or a scream, you cannot hold back any longer. It will feed the disease. This is the lesson that must be learned from the earlier generation--from Cordelia, who barely survived. Even if it hurts, you must speak out."

"SILENCE!"

He blushed, his heart raced so desperately.

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF PAIN? IF YOU LONG FOR PAIN SO, I WILL TEACH YOU IT!"

"Ah....yes...please do....I would be such a willing student," Laurent said, his blush deepening even more.

"Oooh! I...lost control again, I'm sorry," Noire said in a very small voice. "I didn't mean to...scream...Especially not at...you."

"I told you to speak your feelings. Did that cause the roots to wither?"

Noire took a breath, and flinched. "No..."

"Then you must speak more. Let out your rage, your sadness, your worries. It will starve the flowers."

Noire's hands tightened about the blanket's edge. "I bottle up my feelings and say 'yes' and 'I will' and never stand up for myself, until the talisman makes it all come out. But then it's warped. I say horrible things. It's a horrible thing. Like a corrupted wish. The truth is..." Noire began to cough. The vines around her heart and in her lungs wouldn't give up so easily.

"Keep speaking, Noire! Even if...it hurts."

Even if he was filled with sadness, even if his egotism told him that he was the one who belonged at her side, that no one else would take care of her as he would, so loyally and fastidiously, he would accept it even if she spoke another's name.

And it all seemed so _blatant_ now. Everything he had tried to set aside in neat labels of 'merely friendship' had been anything but. Even as he set himself apart as not pining, he'd felt for her quite deeply.

"I'm sorry for what I said then. You were just watching over me. She just--I just--it happens. I haven't found a way to control it. Ah.... The truth is...the truth is... I feel safe around you, you know? Even battles aren't as horrible with you around. It's so stupid..really...I feel happier around you and..."

"Don't second guess yourself, Noire. keep talking and we shall find the cause of both our ailments."

Her cheeks flushed, but the coughing only became worse. Blood flecked from her lips.

"I was glad you fought by my side in battle. It made each day go easier. Your voice was so calming. Even during the worst moments, I didn't feel quite so bad. Except I had to go and ruin it. I'm really sorry..."

She coughed again. His grip tightened upon her, as he felt his own coughs start again. He managed to speak between them, desperately. "Noire, please--I do not know what I would do if I lost you."

"Laurent?"

He finally stopped coughing. "Noire, ...I heard you once say that if someone sparred with you, they would receive the blow, yes?"

She nodded. "The curse activates."

"Then that was it..."

She blushed deep as he met her gaze. "You love me, don't you, Noire?"

She pulled the blanket up to cover her mouth. "I..."

"I have been showing symptoms of this disease, however, they were ghostly. Those that saw the petals before they disappeared said they were definitely the work of dark magic. Mother hypothesized that someone could have feelings for me, and that was it. Though in this moment, the Hanahaki became real, and oh so painful."

"I know it's hopeless, but still I..." Noire said, barely above a whisper. "Still I...had these feelings for you. No matter what spell mother cast to bind them, I still felt them and it hurt..."

He opened his glove. Rose petals lined there. "In the end, I have surely caught the same sickness as you."

"Noire, I believe I have been falling in love with you steadily for some time. I excused away the obvious signs. I felt compelled to check upon you, protect you, be in your presence always...the thought of you wooed away by another filled me with such utter rage. Yet, foolishly I dismissed them as simple friendship when it was so much more. I was a fool, and I can only think it was my own obliviousness which contributed to your feelings of helplessness. And for that, I am deeply sorry."

Her eyes widened. "T-Truly?"

"The flowers are no longer ghosts, but real. It isn't merely the curse, I caught your illness completely."

"I'm so sorry... I'm sorry you had to hurt...too because I was foolish and selfish and stupid."

"You are anything but. You simply need to balance yourself so you speak out more. I believe that will help you with your other side. Please come back to me, Noire."

She clutched her talisman, and let out frenzied laughter. Magical power wreathed about her, and she wrenched her hand away from his. "THESE WRETCHED WEEDS WOULD SEEK TO KILL ME, BUT I WILL RIP THEM APART MYSELF AND FORM A BOUQUET OF THEIR CORPSES!"

Laurent blushed, and let out a gasp. "Noire?"

She threw back the covers and stood up from bed. Her smile was dark as the power filled her, until she was wreathed in purple flames of dark magic. She let out a scream and opened up her hands. Upon each one glowed untold power that sufficed the air, and her, entirely. The air was filled with shredded petals that swirled into a darkness that surrounded her.

The entire tent was filled with that intense light and power. Shockwaves of it blew the very tent flap up. He half wondered if the tent wouldn't be destroyed as collateral.

But it wasn't enough. She reached out to touch his chest, and he drew in a sudden breath. She twisted her hands and it was as if she'd gripped his very heart tight. His heartbeat was so rapid, desperate as she laughed. He could feel her power, utterly intense inside him. Power came out as a breath.

She came back to herself, the quiet Noire. She nearly toppled over, glassy eyed, but Laurent immediately reached out and caught her before she ever fell back in a faint. He had never felt such an intense series of feelings such as this. How foolish he had been to ever think this was mere friendship. She

Her eyes were half-lidded as she looked up at him.

"Noire, you....E-Excelsor, that was incredible! You truly have intense potential as a mage! I've never seen anything like that!"

She blinked awake. "I...did it?"

"Yes, though I fear you exerted yourself horribly with such a high-level spell. You destroyed and absorbed the flowers within both of us. Or, at least, your other side did."

Noire's face contorted in concern. "Oh! Sorry! Did I......Did I hurt hurt you?"

Laurent smiled gently. "No, Noire. I believe you saved me. Saved us both, in fact."

"Mother spoke about using the power of the flowers to strengthen her powers. Somehow, my other side knew just what to do." She took in a deep breath, and broke into a big smile. "I can finally breathe without hurting again. Oh, I'm so glad..."

Except, her smile soon disappeared. Noire's eyes were pained as she looked up at him. "Ah...that's right. She's part of me, too. I don't know how much I can keep her quiet...Sometimes it just happens. That's always going to be a part of me..."

He looked at her, with such a dreamy expression. "And what a glorious part, too. Should anyone face you on the battlefield, they would surely be struck down, stomped beneath your boot--" He blushed deeply at that mention. Just the very thought of her as such a dread goddess of vengeance upon the battlefield set his heart alight in a way he had not known. But oh, he knew now. "I feel honored simply to be in her presence--to be scolded and shown true."

Noire shyly glanced up. "You--you like her too? That side of me....?"

"Yes, very much. I like every side of you. All of it, Noire. I love all of you."

"I could be liked....for who I am?" Noire said softly. "T-That's really possible."

"Yes, completely," Laurent said.

She reached out to him, a bit desperately, and he he gladly held her close.

She sniffled and buried her face against his chest. "I'm just....really happy. I'm a crybaby, I know but--"

"Shh....It's been a very rough time, especially for you."

He brushed his hands through her pale hair.

"Noire, there is still much to learn from this ailment. But what I have learned is that you must keep speaking your feelings aloud, or it will fester inside. Even if it is not the bizarre disease of flowers growing within one's lungs, there will be a horrible feeling of frustration and anger. You must rage completely when you feel anger, and cry when you feel sadness. Either way, I will be at your side to comfort, support and love you at every step."

"Yes, that's why that side comes out so suddenly. I have all this pent-up frustration inside. All these words I want to say but...don't. Because I want people to still like me. And if I say such things..if I stand up for myself, and tell them that they can't walk all over me, then maybe I'll lose them. Really.. I've longed for the day when I would be strong enough to stand up for myself. I'm still weak, but...maybe I can grow stronger if I try? It might not...be impossible after all."

"Noire, nothing you ever could say would ever make me love you less. We'll grow stronger together, Noire. And the first step is speaking frankly and bluntly, so your feelings do not coalesce inside you until you feel at your breaking point. I will gladly live and love with your other side and her beautiful rage. But you must learn to speak bluntly as well."

Noire tightened her grip on his robes, and looked up to meet his gaze. "You're really good at that. Maybe you can...give me some lessons?"

Laurent smiled. "I would be glad to."


End file.
